


Fly Right Into The Sun

by little_abyss



Series: Nights like Whirlwind [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Biting, Complicated Relationships, Consent, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair-pulling, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: Samson no longer feels the effect of lyrium as he used to, and he's never felt it the same way Cullen does.  But after a dose, they find a way to express the things that they can't seem to say with words.(A fill for a Dragon Age Kink Meme prompt)





	Fly Right Into The Sun

It’s in the hesitation of a moment; just a heartbeat before the rush hits.  Samson gasps.  The blinding clarity of the song washes through him for one pure, blistering second before it begins to fade.  It never used to be over so quickly.  He reaches for it, chasing that high; but it already sounds like music from behind a closed door.  His shoulders slump and he rubs his chest, feeling disappointed, then glances at the other man in the room.

 

Cullen’s cheeks are flushed, his mouth wet and open, a look of such pure bliss on his face that it makes Samson’s eyes open a little wider.  Maker, he looks almost as if he’s going to come.   His hands twisting in the white sheets, toes curled against the stone floor, head thrown back.  It’s bewitching.  The candlelight throws red-gold colour over his features, makes the sudden sweat at Cullen’s temples shimmer as he lowers his head with a soft moan.  Samson feels the lance of desire cut through him as he imagines what that sweat tastes like, how pliant Cullen is when he’s like this, how hot his skin would feel under Samson’s palm, how all his inhibitions seem to drop away when he’s hearing the song.  

Samson sighs and rubs his chest again, shifting his posture on his hard mattress, watching Cullen’s head loll from side-to-side, the tourniquet relaxing around his bicep.  Samson frowns, beginning to clear his own works away, careful to clean and store them properly. Then he slides the drawer closed on his works and turns his attention once again, fully, to Cullen.  

 

He is smoothing his hands through his hair, over his neck and down onto his bare chest, breathing heavily.  Samson watches as Cullen’s hands slow against his own skin, the touch becoming almost erotic.  Then Cullen raises his head, looks at Samson with his eyes glassy and a small, catlike smile on his lips.  “Lee,” he croaks, “C’mere.  Please.”

“You enjoying yourself, are you?” Samson asks him, grinning a little.  He can almost  _ feel _ the strength of Cullen’s high himself, the way the song will lilt and tip inside his head, the way that it vibrates through to the very core of his being.  “What d’you want from me?”

 

For a long moment, Cullen sits, staring across at Samson, his mouth open slightly, smiling softly, his eyes hooded.  Samson frowns a little, then rises -- he doesn’t know why he does it, doesn’t care to analyze the motion too deeply.  Cullen exhales, still smiling, then reaches out, catching the waist of Samson’s trousers between the tips of his fingers.  

“C’mon,” he whispers, his voice slippy, almost a moan.  Samson can see the sweat standing on his chest, the thump of his pulse racing in his neck, the way that his cock pushes at the fabric of his trousers.  “Please,” Cullen murmurs softly, that little smile still on his lips, his eyes languid; he runs his fingers along the fabric, then pulls at the ties of Samson’s trousers.

 

“Yeah,” Samson grins, and moves forward.  He hesitates, only for a second, then puts one knee up on the bed, straddling Cullens’ hips.  He leans over, planting his hands on the bed either side of Cullen’s shoulders, just out of reach when Cullen attempts to strain up to kiss him.  Their bare bellies touch, and Samson grins.  “You sure about this?”

All Cullen can give him is a choked whine and a curt nod, and it goes right to Samson’s cock.  Maker, that sound, the way Cullen’s skin is all flushed, the need in his eyes, it’s gorgeous.  “I wanna fuck you,” he says softly, bending down further to mouth the point of Cullen’s jaw, moving restlessly against his prone form, “You’re so pretty like this, you want me to?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, please,” Cullen groans, already thrusting his hips into Samson’s, the words a gasp in the quiet of their quarters.   Briefly, Samson smirks, leans down further, turning away quickly when Cullen tries to kiss him again, moving instead to Cullen’s ear.  He kisses along the shell of it, moves down to hold the lobe in-between his teeth, nibbling briefly, enough to make Cullen gasp.  Samson chuckles under his breath, then whispers harshly, “C’mon, Len.  Tell me what you want.”

“Oh, Maker,” Cullen almost croons, “Please, Ra... _ Raleigh _ , I… oh, I need your cock, I need it, fuck me hard, please, I want, I want it, I want  _ you _ , please…”  The words seem to fall together, to leave Cullen’s mouth in a rush.  Samson’s smirk changes to a smile of pure wonder; he’s never,  _ ever _ had anyone need him the way the Cullen does. “Yeah, alright then,” Samson says, and pushes himself up to undo the ties on Cullen’s pants.

 

Cullen rises as well, to fumble again at Samson’s trousers - he frees his cock and takes it in hand.  A few quick pumps of his fist and Samson feels himself stiffening.  He grunts, shifts out of Cullen’s grip and moves to the side.  “Get ‘em off,” he growls.

Their breathing is short, loud in the quiet room.   Samson grins, watching the eagerness with which Cullen pushes his hips off the bed, shucking his trousers in one quick motion.  Maker, he’s fucking gorgeous; Samson swallows at the sight of that lovely cock, fully hard, the way it’s darker than the milk-white skin of Cullen’s thighs.  “Fuck,” he mutters, and Cullen mewls, thrusting his hips up again slowly, his cock twitching, watching Samson with wide eyes.

Samson clenches his jaw then moves quickly, straddling Cullen and bending down, taking a fistful of blond curls as he roughly kisses those soft pink lips.  Cullen responds perfectly, arching up into the crest of Samson’s thigh, groaning.  Samson pulls back a little, pulling on Cullen’s hair and growls against his ear, “Bet I wouldn’t even have to touch you.  Bet I could just stay right here and talk to you, have you comin’ all over yourself in no time.  My pretty Cullen.”  

 

Cullen whimpers beneath him and thrusts upward, his cock already leaking onto his belly.  It’s so hot, Maker, just watching him is  _ incredible _ , Samson grins quickly, licks the shell of Cullen’s ear, his heart fluttering in his chest.  

“Lee,” Cullen whispers, his voice sounding choked.  “Maker, Lee,  _ please _ …”

He knows what that means.  Abruptly, Samson pushes up, away from the warmth of Cullen’s body.  Cullen whines piteously, begins to follow Samson up, his hands rising, coming toward Samson’s hips.  Quickly, Samson bats them away and snarls, “Roll over.”

 

Cullen whimpers a sound of assent, and Samson shifts off him, rises from the bed.  He pulls open a draw - too hard, the contents of it shift forward and he frowns in annoyance.   _ Hurry up, hurry up _ , it seems like an internal litany and he clenches his jaw, moving the things around until he finds the little bottle of oil.  Quickly, he turns, drawing a swift breath as he observes Cullen’s body - knees apart, crouched on the bed, his ass in the air.  Maker, he’s beautiful.  As Samson watches, he sees Cullen’s hips shift, and he smiles.  It won’t take much to get him off in this condition.  His smile grows as he considers his options.  

“Lee,” Cullen whispers, “Please…”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Samson tells him, and opens the bottle of oil with a faint pop.  He shifts back toward the bed again and runs his fingers from Cullen’s tailbone to his perineum, the touch soft, teasing.  “You think you can be a good boy, do everything I say?”

“Yes,” Cullen moans, “Yes, Maker, I’ll do anything.”

“I know you will,” Samson croons, stroking his fingers over Cullen again, relishing the way he shudders.  “I know you will.”

 

Samson sighs, watching him.  Cullen cannot seem to help the movement of his hips, he thrusts shallowly forward, into the air, the muscles of his ass moving under his skin.  Samson moves both his hands at once - left going under Cullen’s body to his cock, right going to his ass, stroking down the cleft once more.  

He encircles Cullen’s cock with one hand, tugs roughly on it with his slicked hand as he thrusts the tip of his index finger into Cullen’s ass, just a little, just to the first knuckle.  Cullen gasps, a great shuddering breath; his ass clenches around Samson’s finger and his cock twitches in his hand.  Samson laughs, “You’re about to come already, aren’t you?  We ain’t even gotten started.”

 

“I… I, please,” Cullen stammers, and Samson shakes his head, gripping in a rhythm with his hand, pulling Cullen’s cock a little more gently now.  Samson chuckles under his breath and slowly takes his finger out of Cullen’s ass entirely before circling around the hole again.  

“Dirty boy,” he croons, “You want it in the arse, or in the mouth?”

“In… in… my arse,” Cullen almost whispers, his eyes screwed shut, “Maker, Lee, fuck me.  Stop  _ playing  _ with me… Please, Maker, I’m ready, I’m…”

 

Samson laughs again, shaking his head.  He takes his hand off Cullen’s cock, and gives the end a hard flick.  Cullen cries out, hands twisting in the sheets, pulling them up.  His face is red, his whole body tense and sweat standing on his back, his forehead and temples, the back of his neck. 

Samson watches, feeling far away from himself as his finger keeps toying with Cullen’s hole - circling the rim, plunging in for a few quick thrusts, shallow at first then deeper, then returning to his circling motions.  He blinks, takes a deep breath then begins to pump his cock vigorously, in time with his hand on Cullen, trying to give himself up to the reedy moans which Cullen makes, until he is hard once more.  Then he rises up onto his knees and shuffles off the bed.

 

“C’mon,” he mutters, “Back up.  Put your chest on the bed, head on the pillow.  Quick, like.”

Without question, Cullen obeys.  He moves around on the bed, lying exactly as Samson has stipulated.  It’s so easy to see why Meredith likes him so much -- quick to obey, unquestioning.  Samson loves that in him; he hates it too.  So it is with a strange, curling feeling in his chest that he moves a little until he is behind Cullen, kneeling, ready, his cock in one hand, the other on Cullen’s hip.  “Ready?” he growls, and Cullen nods

 

Without any preamble, Samson guides his cock into Cullen’s ass.  It’s a glorious feeling, all that heat enveloping him, and he closes his eyes and groans loud.  “Lee,” Culllen whines, and Samson feels his ass clench around his cock. 

“Don’ worry about it,” Samson mutters, giving a shallow thrust, moving deeper into Cullen’s body, “You don’t need to worry, right?  I’m here.”

There’s reassurance in his tone, and Cullen sighs out a shaking breath, the end turning up into a soft whimper as Samson moves again.  Once he’s fucked Cullen wide enough, he increases the pace for a while, his hips pumping in a regular, solid rhythm; then suddenly, he stops for a moment, shallowing his thrusts so that it’s only the head of his cock inside Cullen.  And he moans, Cullen moans with such wantonness that it’s all Samson can do to keep the movement shallow -- he wants to be everywhere inside Cullen all at once.  

“Len,” he breathes, sliding one hand up his back, leaning forward so that he can grab a handful of those luscious golden waves.  He pulls hard enough so that Cullen gasps and lifts his head, and Samson pulls again, forcing Cullen’s head to one side. 

“Tell me what you want,” he growls, “Say it.”

“Want… Maker, Lee, want you… come in me, fuck me hard.  Please, I want… I…”

“Like this?” Samson asks and slams his hips against Cullen’s body hard enough to push Cullen forward onto his arms a little more, hard enough to make his knees slip apart further.  “Now, don’t you start rubbin’ yourself off against the sheets now, you dirty slut,” Samson growls, “I’m gonna fuck this pretty arse of yours, just like you want me to, I’m gonna make the blue seem like a fucking dream.  I know that’s what you like, you like that, don’t you?”

“Ye...yes,  _ yes _ , I like… I like it…”

“Good,” Samson pants into the back of Cullen’s neck.  He licks a stripe over Cullen’s shoulder blade, then bites into the flesh just below the large muscle covering his shoulder.  And the answer Cullen gives him comes not in words, but in pure reaction: he inhales and tenses, then cries out, his hands fisting in the sheets, fucking backward into Samson, arching up against him, the cry becoming a breathless pleading noise that overwhelms words, it is so full of meaning.

 

And it is there with Cullen’s flesh between his teeth, there with the song in his head but not of him, not in him as it should be that Samson feels most alone.  “Cullen,” he groans, “Cullen…”

And that whine Cullen gives him sets something loose, the great chasm within Samson opens up, swallows any thought he may have given, any compunction he may have had at this.  He thrusts forward viciously, again and again, his cock buried in Cullen, no more soft words or gentle thoughts now, nothing like that.  Cullen cries out again, his eyes shut, then  _ laughs _ , a high-pitched, crazed noise that breaks into a sob when Samson’s rhythm shifts again, becoming almost desperate -- through the haze of it, Samson knows he hears words in Cullen’s voice, but he can’t make sense of them.  It’s a litany: just sounds, no meaning.  

He bites again, running his tongue over Cullen’s skin, he can  _ taste  _ the lyrium just under it, making Cullen’s whole body seem brilliant with light, as if it  _ is _ the song itself.  Samson relinquishes Cullen’s flesh from between his teeth long enough to growl, “Don’t you  _ dare _ come, you… you,  _ fuck _ , don’t you…”  But he’s thrusting hard enough now that the world is ablaze with it, his eyes squeezed shut and Maker, the song, the  _ song _ , he’s not aware of anything else, and he breathes it in, it’s there in his head, all through it, the bittersweet smell of it, the lyrium, Samson gasps a short breath in, into already-full lungs, and then as his exhale becomes a cry of his own, he comes.

 

There’s nothing else, nothing in the world, that feels quite like this.  It’s what he imagines drowning feels like.

 

Slowly, Samson opens his eyes.  The candle has guttered and gone out as they’d fucked, leaving the room in a deep, red-black gloaming.  His belly feels slick against Cullen’s back; his knees almost wet with sweat against the thin cotton of the sheets.  Cullen moves under him, and whimpers softly, as if he’s in pain.  Samson swallows, tries to speak; all the comes out is a curtailed rasp.  He clears his throat and shifts, one hand going to the base of his softening cock, pulling it free from Cullen, who whines again.  “‘Len, fuck… I’m sorry,” Samson mutters, and puts a hand on his back.  “Hang on.  I think you’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” Cullen sighs, and laughs grimly.  Samson bites his lip, brow knitting in concern, then he gets up, ignoring the pain in his own knees and hips and goes to the washstand.  Clean cloths; water.  He hates that it’s cold, but he can’t do much about it.  So he dampens the cloths and takes them to Cullen, who is trying to move, a look of chagrin on his face.  “It doesn’t hurt,” he mutters, and looks at Samson, who shrugs.

“That’s the blue,” he tells Cullen, giving him a rueful half-smile.  “What are you?  Some raw recruit?”  He means it as a joke, but Cullen stiffens and looks away.  He takes the cloth that Samson offers him and applies it to himself -- he still won’t look at Samson.  Samson swallows and smiles.  

“Hey,” he says, reaching out, stroking Cullen’s cheek.  “Don’t worry.  I’m here.”

“I know,” Cullen smiles sadly, and looks at him, his golden eyes dim.  “Thank you.  For being here.”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Samson smirks.  “How long to the next dose, you reckon?”

 

Cullen laughs a little, and Samson smiles as he wonders what he’d give to feel the blue like Cullen does.  He hesitates a moment, then sighs.  “C’mon,” he says, “Get over to my bed.  I’ll fix this up.”

 

A few minutes later and Cullen is in his arms again, breathing soft and slow with his back against Samson’s chest.  And he can’t help it, he can’t -- Samson nuzzles his nose into the back of Cullen’s neck, the smell of his skin all he wants to know in the world.  But even now, even in this moment, so full of bliss, so pure, he feels the deep, dull ache in his bones.  Samson closes his eyes against it, the need, but it’s there.  He supposes it will never leave him now.  A breath shudders from him and he smiles grimly and holds Cullen closer.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the anonymous prompter for this; I had a lot of fun writing it. You can find their original submission [here](https://dragonage-kink.dreamwidth.org/85776.html?thread=362457360).


End file.
